STANDING among the crowd at the vigil for Stanley Tookie Williams was, in a word, surreal.

The crowd — estimated by most news reports at 2,000, though California Highway Patrol officers on the scene put it closer to 4,000 — was a mixture that well represented the diversity of the Bay Area.

For all of the speeches, celebrities in attendance and press coverage, most were gathered at San Quentin state prison Monday because a man was being put to death.

That became evident as the clock drew near midnight. The speeches notwithstanding, the communication throughout the crowd was gracious but subdued.

I spoke with a number of people who said they were there because they did not know what else to do. Far from a festive atmosphere — there was a man playing a saxophone and sounds of drumming — the overwhelming majority sat or stood solemnly.

The closer midnight came, the more a paralyzing feeling of helplessness blanketed the crowd, compelling us into a deafening and collective silence.

I did not attend the vigil simply because I wanted a story, nor was I convinced of Williams’ innocence.

Even the most ardent opponents of the death penalty, which include me, would be hard-pressed to support clemency solely based on a miscarriage of justice, especially if they read the 52-page Los Angeles district attorney report on the Williams case.

Furthermore, though disappointed that the governor was unable to grant clemency, I was not surprised. We live in a bipartisan political climate, and it’s impossible for an individual who harbors gubernatorial ambitions in the blue state of California to hold a position other than a staunch advocate for capital punishment.

Lest we forget that in 1992, then-presidential candidate William Jefferson Clinton temporarily left the campaign to oversee the execution of a man who was mentally challenged.

Why should the governor see redemption as a reason for clemency when there is no consistent public outcry against the possibility of executing the innocent?

I do not believe it was a coincidence that former Illinois Gov. George Ryan found the courage to place a moratorium on capital punishment after discovering that there were innocent people on death row, and he was not seeking re-election.

One wonders why none of the remaining 37 states that embrace the death penalty has yet to follow Illinois’ lead.

Moreover, the growing number of victims’ families organized across the country in opposition to the death penalty is no match for ambitious politicians who tout “victims’ rights” on the campaign trail.

The death penalty taps into our deepest primordial instincts. It is understandable that one would want revenge. I’m quite certain that would be my initial call if I were to lose a family member violently.

Should such individual desires, however, continue as public policy?

Thus, the Williams execution, and the death penalty in general, becomes inextricably linked to other questionable policies such as the pre-emptive war in Iraq, the Patriot Act, our tragic response to Hurricane Katrina and Congress’ commitment to cutting taxes for the wealthiest Americans while reducing services for the poorest.

How much more evidence will be required before we can put an end to the torture policies that appear to be a vital strategy in the war on terror? What does it also say that, according to Amnesty International, 97 percent of all known executions in 2004 took place in China, Iran, Vietnam and the Untied States?

For some strange reason, perhaps known only to the cosmos, the Williams case brought international attention to the death penalty like no other since Karla Faye Tucker’s on Feb. 3, 1998, in Texas. I suspect that, like Tucker, it was more difficult to completely ignore Williams’ humanity — a prerequisite for implementing the death penalty.

But if indeed Gandhi was right that an eye for an eye leaves everyone blind, we can rest assured that our current moral path leaves us wanting only for a cane and a dog.

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